


Happily Ever After

by Lavendermagik



Series: Once Upon a Time There Was a Lie [2]
Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/M, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-03-02 19:38:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13325076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavendermagik/pseuds/Lavendermagik
Summary: It never goes as smoothly as you'd think.Snap shots of life with Jack Thompson following the events ofI Take Thee.





	1. Happily Ever After

You idly tapped your fingers against the arm of the chair. You were increasingly bored, and the man who continually paced by the windows was of no help. He’d barely even acknowledged your presence since he’d brought you to this dilapidated building.

If there’s anything you hated more than a kidnapping it was a dull kidnapping.

“Hey…” you began to call until you realized you didn’t know the guy’s name and so substituted, “you. Do you have a plan here or what?”

He didn’t appear to enjoy being interrupted from his… what? Brooding? “I don’t have to explain myself to you,” he near snarled.

“Well, no, you certainly don’t _have_ to, but it would make our time together so much more enjoyable.”

"Look, lady, just keep your mouth shut until Stark wires me my money. Then all you gotta worry about is the cops finding you before you starve to death.”

“That could take a while – I don’t starve quickly.”

He gave you a look that said he didn’t understand, but then turned his attention back out the window because he obviously didn’t care. You returned to your tapping until the silence once more became unbearable. “But honestly, how long are we going to wait? What if Howard doesn’t send you any money?”

He snorted. “He’ll cough up the dough. Everyone knows you’re his favorite little piece of tail.”

“Everyone knows this, do they?”

“Why else would he have given you that cushy job?”

“The reason couldn’t possibly be that I’m good at it.”

He snorted again. Misogynistic jerk.

You rolled your eyes. “Fine, let’s say that he’s not willing to pay what you asked for his prized harlot. What’s your next move?”

“I’ll cut off a part of your body and send it to him.”

“Hmm, that might be effective, but it’s going to take time. You must know that Howard is currently across the country – I’m sure you did your research before enacting this scheme of yours. Are we just going to sit here until he receives the macabre package and has a chance to respond?”

“You gab an awful lot. Maybe I’ll send him your tongue.”

“Then I better warn you quickly.”

“Warn me ‘bout what?”

“You’ve gone and made yourself a very regrettable enemy. You’ll be much better off if you just let me go now.”

“I ain’t afraid of Stark.”

At that moment, by some fantastic coincidence, a crash sounded somewhere beyond the door to your dingy room, followed by yells and gunfire. You couldn’t stop the smile that slowly spread across your lips. “I wasn’t talking about him.”

When Jack Thompson kicked the door open soon after, he found your kidnapper gripping one of your arms while holding a knife to your throat. Jack leveled his gun at the sweating man’s face. “Get your hands off my wife.”

“You sure you wanna risk it?” It was a fair question – he was blocking most of his vital points with your body. “Even if you manage to miss her, I’ll cut her throat if I move an inch.”

Jack looked at you and watched one side of your mouth tilt up. Silent understanding passed between you, and he moved his finger from the trigger as he raised both hands up in surrender.

You felt the man behind you relax minutely just before you grabbed his knife-wielding arm. In one fluid movement you flipped him over your shoulder and then rammed your fist right into his face. With a satisfied huff you brushed your hair back and looked up to the room’s other occupant who was staring at the now unconscious man.

“That move looked awfully familiar,” he said, tucking his gun into its holster.

“Peggy taught it to me the last time we were out west.”

“Of course she did.” He raised his eyes to meet yours and asked wryly, “And why didn’t you do that before?”

“Because now we can say you took him out and no one will ask any questions." Your smile turned mischievous as you began toying with your necklace. “Also, I kind of like watching you burst through doors. It’s very… heroic.”

“Oh yeah?” He smirked, eyeing you with renewed interest.

No one could say your flirting hadn’t improved.

“Though we need to work on your heroic one-liners,” you continued, tone returning to normal and then a tad scolding. “I’m still not your wife.”

“Did I say that?” His expression negated any innocence he tried to affect. 

“You did,” you confirmed, but smiled even as you sighed resignedly, making your way over to grab hold of his hand.

“Oops.” He laced his fingers through yours and squeezed before leading you out of the room to find another agent to clean up the mess left behind. “Guess I keep forgetting.”


	2. Five Minutes

**Five Minutes**

“So what made you change your mind?” Jack smiled up at you from his chair, his arm extended so his fingers could stay tangled with yours where you sat perched on his desk. The kissing, though fantastic in a toe-curling way, had to be called to a stop when an agent walked past the office’s window and rapped his knuckles against it sharply.

“Believe it or not, Howard. He gave me a really heart-felt pep talk.”

“Stark?”

“Who would have guessed?” You gave a half shrug which caused your linked hands to swing. The simple movement brought the smile back to his face.

“Was he upset when he found out you were quitting?”

“Oh, I didn’t quit.”

“What?” His brow furrowed, fingers tightening just a bit, like he feared you were planning to return to California and leave him behind again.

You squeezed back and offered him a reassuring smile. “I’ve been promoted – you’re looking at the new vice president of Stark Industries, New York division.”

If anything, his eyes narrowed even more. “Vice president?”

Because you were a kind sort of person, you merely raised your eyebrows in warning. “Yes?”

“That’s…” He paused to clear his throat and readjust himself in his chair. “That’s great. Good for you.”

“You don’t think I can do it,” you observed blandly, matter-of-factly, as you would the weather or an untied shoelace.

“Of course you can _do_ it. But… you know there’s a lot of men that aren’t so open-minded, right? You’re gonna be fighting an uphill battle.”

“I’m not worried. If I can win you over, I can win anyone over.”

“Yeah, but I also happen to be in love with you. That’s not going to be the case with everyone.”

“Who says?”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m kidding.” You gave his hand a little shake. “I know this isn’t going to be easy, but a lot of Howard’s contacts are used to doing business through me anyway. Hopefully they won’t notice the difference.”

“What if they don’t want to do business with a woman?” he finally asked outright, and you made sure your expression was appreciative for his candor.

“Then they can find another company to do business with, and suffer for it.”

“And Stark’ll be okay with losing customers?”

“You may have noticed, but Howard likes to cause a stir when given the opportunity”

“You know, I did notice that.”

The two of you really needed to stop smiling so much. You were beginning to look crazy.

“Speaking of my new employment,” you began regretfully, “I should really go check out the state of the offices. I haven’t seen them in person since the journey west, and there’s only so much you can glean from phone conferences.”

You hopped to your feet, and Jack rose to meet you.

“You’re leaving already?”

Honestly, it was sweet how disappointed he managed to sound.

“Just the building – we _will_ still be in the same city. And I’m sure you have work that should be getting done.” But you didn’t detach yourself, instead pulling him with you to the door.

“Let me take you to dinner tonight.”

You fluttered your lashes with obvious exaggeration. “Why Jack William Thompson, are you asking me on a date?”

He raised your hand to his mouth and held the back to his lips. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

You did an impressive job of appearing unaffected. “I don’t know – that’s awfully short notice.”

“Seven-fifteen.”

“That’s more like it.” You gave his fingers a final squeeze, your other hand opening the door behind you. “I’ll see you tonight.”

You made it one step over the threshold before his grip tightened and he pulled you back into him. His other hand spread across your cheek and jaw until his fingertips curled around the back of your neck. This kiss wasn’t as slow as those that came before but felt like it ignited the blood in your veins, heat rushing out to every extremity. It lasted only a few moments before he pulled back, a little out of breath but obviously pleased with himself. “See you tonight,” he repeated.

You cleared your throat and nodded, trying to get the world to settle back on its axis. This time his hand fell away from yours when you turned away. You were then met with an office full of agents staring at you with varying levels of amusement. You cleared your throat again and gave them a single, imperious tilt of your head. “Gentlemen.”

Some smiled and nodded back as you marched past on your way to the elevator. Only one or two winked. At least all of them had the decency to hold back their more exuberant reactions until the elevator doors began to close.


	3. Two Weeks

**Two Weeks**

Jack had been an only child. He’d never really given his solitariness that much thought. He hadn’t been one to sit around wishing he had siblings – honestly, he’d quite enjoyed being his parents’ singular focus. However, as he aged, he began to notice interesting and unexpected by-products of his upbringing.

For example, as he sat on your couch, listening to you argue with your employer over the phone, he realized that he’d never quite learned to share.

He felt at this moment his irritation was justified. You’d both been back in New York for two weeks, and in that span he’d seen you only a handful of times, each lasting an unsatisfactorily short duration. There’d been the dinner that first night back in the city – he’d brought you home at a respectable time, though the goodbye at your front door had lingered into arguably inappropriate territory. Still, he hadn’t ventured past the threshold, even though invited.

Because he was a gentleman.

And an idiot.

The following morning saw your first official day at your new post, and he showed up at noon with a bouquet of daisies and an invitation to lunch. You’d enthusiastically accepted the flowers, but regretfully declined the date – the state of the office was near-chaotic, and you had to create some order as soon as possible. You’d call him when you clocked out.

You called him the next day, saying that you hadn’t left until well past midnight and were afraid to wake him.

More than a week flew by filled with harried phone calls (when one of you actually reached the other – more often than not you communicated through an exchange of messages) and one brief morning encounter over coffee. Now, finally, you both carved out a night off, and here he was sitting by himself as you impatiently tried to deny Howard Stark whatever he’d gotten his mind set on.

“Please, Howard, you have to see why I don’t want to. I just got back here, and I’m up to my neck trying to organize the New York office. I can’t just slough off in the middle of all that… Yes, I understand you’re on a schedule… I’m sorry she’s not what you were hoping for – you really should have fired her from the start… No, Howard, don’t be ridiculous, of course I don’t want your movie to be a flop. But there has to be some other way. I _just_ got here… No… No… Honestly, Howard…. Oh, you know what, fine. I said fine! But you’re calling Mercer to tell him – he’s already making a list of reasons why I’m unfit. No, don’t fire him. He’s a misogynist, but he’s a misogynist who’s good at his job… Okay… Okay… Yes, I’ll pick up some truffles from that shop you like… Okay… Okay! Howard, I have to go… Yes, okay, I’ll see you soon… No… No! Goodbye Howard!”

You hung the phone up rather more forcefully than required and took a deep breath. Then you marched the few steps to where Jack sat and flopped down perpendicular to him, back propped against his arm. He waited a few beats, both felt and heard you heave a great sigh, and then casually asked, “Something wrong?”

“Howard Stark is impossible.”

“What’s he want now?”

“I have to go back to California.”

Jack felt his heart constrict. After everything he’d finally convinced you to come back with him, to stay with him, and one phone call from Howard Stark could unravel everything? How was it that that man still had such a hold over you? A fresh wave of hatred for the rich playboy washed over him, but he tried to keep his voice steady as he replied, “Oh yeah?”

No reason to make a fool of himself by getting all emotional and begging… again…

“You know that actress he hired to play the female lead? The one who can only work for ten minutes at a time?”

The one whose place you’d stood in to practice a scene that resulted in you being molested by a cowboy whose nose he’d broken shortly after? Yeah, he remembered.

“Well, it turns out she can’t sing either.” You tipped your head back until it rested on his shoulder. Now he could see the slope of your nose and the curve of your cheek. “Howard made some kind of comparison to a cat in heat being sat on by a cow. I’m not even sure what that would sound like.”

“So Stark talked you into being in his show after all?” Disappointment began to fill his throat, but he resolutely swallowed it down. He was glad you were facing away so he didn’t have to divert any of his concentration on controlling his expression.

“Oh good heavens, no!” Your eyelashes fluttered rapidly as you blinked in apparent horror. “I’m only flying out to record the song. He’s going to dub over his tone-deaf actress and hope no one notices. My name won’t even show up in the credits.”

That was good, at least. Stark didn’t have total control over your life.

You turned your head so that your cheekbone rested against his shoulder. “Hopefully it won’t take long and I can be back within a few days – a week at most.”

Wait… you were coming back? You weren’t returning to California permanently to resume your servitude to Stark? Relief flooded him like a dam broken, pushing out even his hatred for your employer.

You weren’t leaving him, not really.

With one smooth motion he raised his arm to lay across the back of the couch. With the unexpected disappearance of your support, you were unable to do more than yelp and collapse backwards into his lap. He brought his hand back down rest on your hip as you glared up at him from your place propped against his other arm on the armrest. He answered with a grin and, “When do we leave?”

Your glare shifted to confusion. “We?”

“I’ll go with you – check up on Sousa and Carter.”

“You just saw them two weeks ago.”

“And they’ve probably gotten into twelve new scrapes since then.”

“Jack, I appreciate it, but you don’t have to do that. I've traveled by myself loads of times, and you’re so busy here-”

“So are you, which means I’ve barely gotten to see you. I’m not ready to put an entire country between us yet. Besides, I could use a vacation.”

“What do you call the last two months?”

“When you almost die as often as we did, that’s called work.”

"Funny, I haven't seen a paycheck for that yet.”

“I’ll have a word with accounting. You didn’t answer my question.”

“I was planning to take the plane out tomorrow morning. Is that too soon?”

He felt a swell of triumph that you had caved so easily.

“To have you all to myself for hours without any way to be reached by work or Stark or any other distractions? Not soon enough.”

“Strange how there don’t seem to be any distractions right now…” You were gazing up at him through your lashes, the edge of your bottom lip just caught between your teeth.

You were trying to kill him. He was sure.

“You've always been an observant one. What do you think we should do about it?”

“I bet you already have a few ideas.”

Boy, did he.

He tensed his arm just enough to bring you within range, leaning down to plant his lips on yours. He barely made out your sigh that sounded an awful lot like contentment as your fingers glided across his jaw to wrap around the base of his skull. The pressure was gentle but firm, a hold that made him feel like you were just as relieved to have your hands on him as he was to have you in his arms. Two weeks was a long time to go without seeing the woman you loved right after she finally returned your feelings.

Unfortunately, his satisfaction was cut short when a near-bang indicated that your front door had been thrown open. You two parted just as your roommate strode into the room, shedding her coat haphazardly and talking rapid-fire without pausing for breath. Only when she plopped down in a nearby chair and reached the end of her story about her most recent audition that had ended with her calling the director a pig did she look up to see you still laying across Jack’s lap. “Oh my gosh, am I interrupting something? Don’t worry, I'll just… spend the evening in my room. You two can pretend I’m not even here.”

“That’s a little hard to do when you still happen to be here.”

He still hadn’t quite forgiven this dame for the crying stunt she’d pulled. Also, she had yet to make any move towards leaving.

“Stop it, Jack.” The moment broken, you sat up and swung your feet to the floor, taking a moment to smooth your skirt and hair. “Actually, Angie, I should let you know that I’ll be leaving for California tomorrow. I shouldn’t be gone longer than a week.”

“You heading back to L.A.?”

“Yes, lamentably, Howard has talked me into doing him yet another favor.”

“Didn’t Peg say something about her brother bein’ back?” She was trying for nonchalance but fell rather short.

“Michael?” you asked, eyebrows rising. “She did. Apparently, they got his whole mess cleaned up and he’s staying with her until he decides what to do next.”

“You don’t say…” Angie slapped her hands to her thighs and rose abruptly. “All right, you talked me into it.”

“Into what?” Jack asked, voice flat with precognition.

“Flying out with you. You got room enough for one more, right?”

He wanted to say no, but you beat him to the punch. “Of course we do. I’m sure Peggy will be pleased as Punch to see you.”

“Maybe I'll look into this movie business while we're out there. It's not like they can say ‘no’ any worse than Broadway, right? I’ll go start packing right now! I hope my clothes are nice enough for California...” Her mutterings trailed off as she whipped out of the room as quickly as she entered.

Jack felt his lips pinch tight. So much for his uninterrupted trip across the country with you. But then you smiled at him, at least somewhat in apology, and leaned over to plant a gentle kiss to his cheek.

Maybe learning to share wouldn’t be so hard if you just kept looking at him like that.


	4. Three Weeks

**Three Weeks**

“Can I give you a hand?”

“Oh, that’s quite all right, Chief Thompson. I can handle this on my own.”

“I know that, Jarvis. I wasn't offering because I thought you couldn’t scrub a couple of dishes.”

“Very well then, if it pleases you. You will find a towel for drying in that drawer there.” Jarvis indicated with a tilt of his head, hands currently buried in a sink of bubbles. Soon Jack was settled in beside him, receiving the rinsed dishes in a silence that was just toeing the line of uncomfortable.

Eventually, Jack cleared his throat, though he didn’t look up from his task. “Hey, I wanted to apologize.”

Jarvis paused mid-scrub, genuinely baffled. “Whatever for?”

“For how I treated you, you know, back in the beginning. And then after that.”

“If you are referring to the things that were said in the interrogation room during your search for Mr. Stark think nothing of it. You were merely doing your job.”

“That's not all of it. I wasn’t exactly kind at the Chadwick fundraiser either. And you didn’t deserve any of it. I was a grade-A jerk, and then you took care of me anyway. You’re a class act, Jarvis.”

The butler eyed him with measured suspicion, though it was more curious than hostile. “Did she put you up to this?”

“You don’t think I can be nice without her bossing me into it?” Jack balked, but then sighed in resignation when the other man just watched him. “No, she didn’t. I don’t think she really knows about any of it.”

You'd often seen the admittedly less-than-exemplary way he could be in his interactions with Carter and Sousa, but you'd been absent for most of his crass interactions with Jarvis, usually off somewhere else with Stark. He was man enough to admit that the thought of your response if you ever found out was mildly terrifying. ‘You said _what_ to him? Jack Thompson, you absolute ass, I could throttle you six ways to Sunday!’

“Well then, Chief Thompson, I can assure you that all is forgiven. You are held in high esteem by several whose opinions I value greatly. I would be a fool to disregard their good taste because of a few previous misunderstandings.”

“Thanks Jarvis – that means a lot.”

“I will also further assure you that all of this conversation’s details shall remain between us.”

“That means even more.”

Jack Thompson's hide was safe for another day.

Dishes done, Jarvis moved on to prepare a tray of nightcaps, leaving Jack to rejoin the gathering in one of the establishment’s many sitting rooms. He found Carter and Sousa together on a loveseat, laughing freely as you held your skirt aside in order to demonstrate some sort of Irish jig to an enraptured Lucy who was doing her best to copy. Angie Martinelli shared an adjacent couch with Michael Carter, now clean shaven and minutely more relaxed, though he seemed rather unsure of the boisterous woman who’d stationed one of her hands on his arm and looked up at him so sweetly. Ana sat on a nearby stool, clapping and cheering, while Stark muttering some comment about a dame he’d known in Ireland.

For a moment Jack couldn’t bring himself to trespass on the scene, such a marvelous display of uninhibited cheer. He still had the hardest time believing his good luck when it came to you. Shortly after Angie had made it clear that his intended jet ride for two had picked up another passenger, you had suggested making good on your offer to show his cousin around California. When the plane stopped off in Oklahoma, he’d found Lucy with her parents, clinging to her small suitcase and vibrating with excitement. The small girl had near-bowled you over when you greeted her outside of the cockpit where you’d been going over a few last-minute details with the pilot. You'd grinned at Jack over her head, a look that said, ‘Isn't she the most precious thing in the world?’ and he thought he might have fallen a little more in love, sappy as that sounded.

Now, here you were in the company of the friends and family you openly adored, having so much fun in such an uninhibited way, and you were still going to fly back to New York with him tomorrow. That you could obviously love something so much, and then somehow value him even more… he knew he didn’t deserve even a fraction of that, but he was just selfish enough to hang on like a prospector guards his claim.

You looked up from watching Lucy trying to kick her legs without falling over and met his eyes across the room. Your cheeks were flushed from the exertion, though the color would quickly fade as your body adjusted its temperature and redirected the blood flow. Your eyes, those sparkling fairytale princess eyes, lit up even more and a grin split your face, as if merely seeing him had somehow made this festive moment even more joyful.

He couldn’t hold back anymore. In a few quick strides he was across the room, grabbing hold of your person and dipping you theatrically. He kissed you so enthusiastically that any performer would be green with envy (and maybe nausea – this was a fairly grotesque public display of affection).

Lucy giggle and clapped. Ana made some kind of cooing sound. Howard grunted his displeasure. Carter slapped her palm over Sousa's mouth before he could offer whatever commentary he'd intended. Angie leaned into Michael's side, grinning and saying something only he could hear. He looked all the more surprised at the increased contact and hardly seemed to notice the scene before him. Jarvis paused in the doorway, holding his tray full of drinks, completely unsure of what he just walked in on.

Jack pulled back enough to meet your confused expression with a smug grin. Your brow pinched in only a little, still too wrapped up in the atmosphere of the night to truly be upset yet. “Show off,” you almost whispered, not so much accusatory as teasing.

“Just making sure everyone knows.”

Now your expression did fall flat. “What exactly? That I belong to you? Like a fire hydrant belongs to the dog that urinates on it?”

“That’s not what I meant.” Even now, faced with the first strains of your irritation, he couldn’t school his features into anything less than contentment.

“So then what is it exactly you’re making sure they know?”

“That I am so incredibly lucky to be in love with you.”

That managed to knock the anger right out of your system. With widening grin he set you back on your feet, just as Ana jumped up and announced she would show you all a traditional dance from her country. Everyone else cheered, lighthearted mood unsullied by Jack's already forgotten interruption. Forgotten by everyone except you, who continued to stare at him like you didn’t quite understand, like after everything the fact that he loved you still took a minute to register. Then, with Ana's exuberant movements as a contrasting backdrop, a soft smile slowly turned your lips. Then you wrapped your arms around him and pressed your cheek to his chest, relaxing into him like there was no place you’d rather be. He returned your embrace, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

The two of you stayed like that as you watched Lucy trying to keep up with Ana. Inexplicably, at some point all the women in the room ended up in a poorly coordinated kick line, too seized with laughter to be effective. Jack watched your delight without worry or jealousy, because every time you’d look his way your smile would grow just a bit brighter, and he knew that for the first time he had earned himself a place right in the middle of everything that mattered.


	5. Two Months

**Two Months**

“Jack, why don’t we ever go to your place?”

“You live is the swankiest penthouse I’ve ever seen. Why would you want to go to my place?”

“Presumably because you live there.” You were walking in the direction of your apartment with your arm through his, coats pulled tight against the chill that always accompanied the transition from fall to winter. Not until this moment did you realize that you'd never seen Jack's home, let alone spent any time inside. You weren’t even sure you’d be able to find it if tested. “If we went to your apartment you wouldn’t have to wait outside for me if you got off work first. It’s only going to get colder.”

“Trust me, we're better off coming here.” He indicated your building as the doorman greeted you with a slight bow. 

“Why so secretive, Thompson? Are you hiding your other girlfriend or something?”

“Where do you think I’d find time for another one? I hardly get to see you,” he scoffed as you stepped into the elevator and he jabbed the button for your floor, perhaps with more force than required.

“So what’s the problem?” The elevator dinged as the doors closed you into privacy. You unthreaded your arm so you could face him.

Jack rolled his shoulders and rubbed at his neck, seemingly unable to choose his words and look you in the eye at the same time. Finally he shoved his hands in his coat pockets and looked at you like he was about to say you didn’t get the part you wanted in a play – dutifully resigned. “Being the chief of the S.S.R. comes with a lot of perks, but a high pay grade isn’t one of them.”

You waited for him to elaborate on his own, but he seemed to think the single sentence sufficient. “Okay?”

“I'm not saying I live in a dumpster, all right? It's a nice place. It's fine. So it's not very big, and the heat doesn’t work very well, but it's…” he trailed off with an abrupt huff of air. “It's not a penthouse suite with phones in every room or a mansion with a swimming pool and private zoo.”

_Oh._

“Jack,” you spoke carefully, watching his stiff posture march out of the elevator, “you know those kinds of things don’t matter to me. I grew up in a tiny apartment on the lower east side.”

“And now you live here.” He swept his hand to encompass the entirety of the (admittedly grand) main entryway, which was really not helping your case. “You really think seeing my dinky hole-in-the-wall isn't going to be some kind of culture shock? That it's not going to remind you of all the things Stark can give you that I can't?”

There it is.

Jack saw your dark expression and took a deep breath. His next words were quieter. “I'm not still trying to make you choose between us, I’m not. I get that you’re here. But that doesn’t mean I want to wrap up everything you gave up and wave it in your face.”

“Giving something up is only a problem when that thing matters to you in the first place, and like I said, I don't care a lick about any of that. I’ve been poor and I’ve been well off and neither made me happy on its own. But you,” you stepped forward and grabbed his hands, “you make me _very_ happy, so I'm keeping you. If you don’t want me to see you where you live, I'll respect that. But don’t for a minute think that anything as inconsequential as your paycheck is going get rid of me.”

You gave him time to process everything, swinging his hands just a little and smiling patiently. After a moment he pulled himself free so he could wrap his arms around you. You sighed contentedly into his warmth and fought the urge to snuggle him like a baby. Mm, he smelled better than he had a right to.

“How about next Friday? We'll order in.”

“It's a date.”


	6. Three Months

**Three Months**

You grinned as Jack approached, but he merely returned your expression with some amount of exasperation, skipping right over any kind of greeting to, “Why aren’t you wearing gloves?”

“Oh,” you looked down in genuine surprise. He was right – your fingers were bare. “I guess I forgot.”

“You ever heard of a thing called frostbite?” He began to rub your hands between his, which were warm even through the thick black fabric of the gloves he'd had the foresight to wear.

He was being ridiculous of course. If bullets and electrocution couldn’t stop you, a little cold wasn’t going to phase you one bit. But he liked to fuss, and the concern did feel natural in the current setting. The air tasted of further snow soon to be smoothing out the divots in the park's current blanket, created by children and animals enjoying it before the novelty wore off and everyone began longing for warmer weather.

“You worry too much, Jack. Literally, you’re worrying more than the situation warrants.”

He paused rubbing but didn’t release your hands. “Just because you don’t strictly _need_ something doesn’t mean you should skip it entirely. What’s it gonna hurt to wear mittens or something?”

“I didn’t intentionally leave my gloves at home like I’m trying to spite mother nature. I just didn’t think about it. Next time I'll try to remember. Now come on! It's going to start up again soon, and I'd like to get our romantic stroll through the park in before the next blizzard.”

You pulled one of your hands free so you could tug him further down the path. He let out a displeased huff of air, but seemed resigned to your unaffected demeanor. You walked in silence just long enough to settle into a steady pace before asking, “Are you all packed?”

“Mostly. Got one more load of laundry drying. You?”

“I’ve been packed for a week. I’m used to needing the last few days to sort out Howard, so I habitually sorted myself out early.”

“You sure I can’t talk you into coming with me?”

He sounded almost sorrowful, so you kept your response gentle. “You know my answer to that. We've only been dating a few months – meeting your family, _all_ your family at the same time, it’s just… it's too much pressure to put on a new relationship. Don’t you think?”

“You’re probably right,” he conceded, glancing down at your joined hands as if for verification. “Feels like longer than a few months though.”

“Our fake marriage doesn’t count,” you countered, absently fiddling with the rings hanging from the chain around your neck.

“I guess if you're going to be picky about it…” He shot you a look as you nudged him with your shoulder, but no one could mistake it for anything but affectionate. Then he let out a sigh just shy of overly dramatic. “I just don’t like the thought of you being away from me for so long.”

“Oh, come now. We're both grown adults. If we can’t stand to be apart for a mere week we have become much too codependent.”

Abruptly, Jack pulled to a stop, and you prepared to do damage control for however you might have pinched his pride. Instead, he pulled a small package from his pocket and held it out to you with a short, “Here.”

You dropped his hand and took it carefully. “What's this?”

He rolled his eyes and replied most unhelpfully, “What’s it look like?”

The answer was something box-shaped and wrapped in white paper with a curling ribbon on top. In short: a Christmas present. However, you did not appreciate his tone, so instead of unwrapping the apparent gift you just arched an eyebrow. 

“I figured since I was going to be in Vermont and you were going to be in California over Christmas, I might as well give you this now,” he finally explained. He appeared almost uncomfortable which led you to wonder whether he was nervous about this first Christmas gift.

“You are a terrible Santa Clause, Jack Thompson. Absolutely no showmanship.”

“Ho ho ho, just open it already.”

With a smile you did as instructed, finding a hinged jewelry case inside. Luckily it was too wide and flat to be a ring box – if you weren’t ready to meet his parents you certainly weren’t ready for a legitimate engagement ring. Pushing up the top revealed a bracelet made of small silver links with a variety of dainty charms sprinkled evenly around. Intrigued you lifted it up and began to examine each more closely: an open book, a sun surrounded by delicate rays, a pair of cowboy boots, a flamingo, a fan of five cards depicting a royal flush, a movie camera, an origami crane (made of the same silver as the rest), a piano whose top could open and shut, and an ice cream cone. You bit the inside of your lip hard to fight back tears – Jack didn’t do well when you cried.

“Stark helped,” he admitted, gently taking the chain and fastening it around your wrist as it tinkled merrily. “He recommended a jeweler who’d make whatever I wanted. Got me a pretty good deal.”

He’d even asked Howard, a man he barely tolerated, for assistance in giving you a bracelet spanning your lives together.

“Well that’s just great.” You sniffed, snapping the box closed and almost glaring at your gift.

“Uh…” he was beyond confused as you stomped a few steps away and ran a hand through your hair (he vaguely noted that you hadn’t worn a hat either).

“You just… you just have to be so wonderful. Your gift is so thoughtful and perfect, and I…” You turned and walked back to him, pulling out another small, wrapped box. “Here.”

He accepted it, curious and wary of your sudden changes in mood. He quickly removed the bright red wrapping and lifted the top of the box underneath to find a single key.

“I'm sorry,” you continued to ramble, gazing at the gift forlornly, “It was the only thing I could think of. I thought this way you wouldn’t have to wait outside if I got hung up and ran late, and maybe that would make it easier to see each other. Or if the heat went out at your apartment, you could come over whether I was there or not and then you wouldn’t have to sit around freezing to death. But it's a stupid present, and you went to all the trouble to give me something so beautiful and personal, and I’m just, I’m sorry I’m so bad at this-"

Jack's hand was behind your head and buried in your hair before you even saw him move. He kissed you like it was the most important thing he’d ever had to do. He pressed his forehead into yours and looked at you intensely. “It's perfect. You're perfect.”

“I don’t know about that…”

He kissed you again, just a firm press of his lips to yours in order to stop your talking. You couldn’t help but smile at him, hardly noticing the snow flakes starting to dust the both of you.

“Merry Christmas, sunshine.”

“Merry Christmas, cowboy.”


	7. Three Months, Two Weeks

_Three Months, Two Weeks_

“It's so good to hear your voice.”

“What happened to being grown adults and too codependent?”

“I was prepared for a week. Apparently, I’m not mature enough to handle an unexpected delay by blizzard.”

“If it helps, I’ve been itchin' to call you since I got here.”

“You did call me when you got there.”

“After that.”

“So you’re still stuck in Vermont?”

“Roads are all blocked. It's coming down faster than they can get rid of it. I think they just gave up trying.”

“I can’t get a flight anywhere near New York. That’s some weather you guys are having.”

“You’re telling me. No one made it off the property before the storm hit. You ever try to sleep with thirty people crammed into a three-bedroom farmhouse?”

“Thirty? Really?”

“I almost slept in the barn.”

“It's just me, Howard, Peggy, and the Jarvises now. Speaking of, Ana gave me a present for you.”

“Tell her I said thank you.”

“I think it’s a scarf.”

“Tell her you're terrible at surprises.”

“It might be a holster, too.”

“The mystery returns.”

“You know, I’m a little jealous of your snow.”

“You can have it.”

“It's so strange have Christmas poolside.”

“Now you’re just rubbing it in.”

“Howard wanted to decorate a palm tree. Luckily, Jarvis was in charge of retrieving it and came back with your standard evergreen.”

“That’s… _sh, hang on, I'm on the phone… yes with her… I'll tell her… yes, now go on, I'll be there in a minute…_ sorry, Lucy says hi. I told her we'd play gin rummy after lunch. The kid has some serious cabin fever.”

“I don’t want to keep you…”

“You're not – I promise she doesn’t mind. She’s been bragging all week about being the only one who's met you.”

“Oh, that's sweet.”

“Maybe in the beginning. But don’t think you’re going to get out of the next family gathering. I’m pretty sure I’m not allowed back without you.”

“I don’t really know how to feel about that.”

“Try being me – my own family already likes you more and they haven't even met you yet.”

“You're exaggerating.”

“Wish I was. Better yet, wish you were here.”

“Because what that three-bedroom farmhouse needs is an additional body.”

“We could both sleep in the barn.”

“What a tempting offer.”

“You'd choose a comfortable bed over me?”

“Never.”

“…really?”

“I'd sleep in a snowdrift this minute if you were there too. I really do miss you, Jack. I was looking forward to seeing the start of the new year with you. Now we won’t even be beginning the year at the same time.”

“How about this: I'll call you at midnight your time and let you know how the new year's going?”

“You are not going to stay up until three in the morning just to tell me happy new year.”

“Sorry, you're in the past. You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Jack Thompson, I swear-"

“Sorry, mom needs the phone and Lucy is still waiting.”

“Jack, do not call me-"

“Love you. Talk to you soon.”

“Jack!”


	8. Seven Months

**Seven Months**

Jack didn’t cook much. You didn’t cook much either. So your dates usually consisted of eating out or ordering in. Then one weekend you'd announced out of the blue that the two of you would be cooking at home – Jack's home, to be specific, officially because it was his turn to host, but also because less would be lost if you set something on fire.

His small kitchen area was a mess. He didn’t have a whole lot in the way of pots or cooking utensils, but he was pretty sure you'd managed to use all of them. Not that he was complaining; he'd wash the world's dishes for the memory of you in an apron with your hair piled haphazardly on top of your head as you gave him instructions on what to cut. You had multiple recipe books open and scattered around, striving to monitor everything at once. Still, despite your intense dedication and focus, you’d both laughed your way through the whole process, lobbing challenges and snark, only stopping just shy of instigating a food fight.

He’d never imagined himself in a kitchen, but you’d given an order and he hadn’t even stopped to question.

Miraculously, everything appeared to be edible. Yes, the biscuits were a bit darker than intended, and he'd had to throw out some vegetables he'd managed to drop, but with the new bright white tablecloth and the only light coming from two tall candlesticks, the meal couldn’t look more delicious. For a few beautiful moments, he sat across from you, apron discarded, hair released, smile illuminated by the candles, and he knew that this was what true contentment felt like.

Then the phone rang. If he'd been a normal civilian, a successful insurance agent for example, he would have let it ring. Hell, he might have unplugged the damned thing. But he was the chief of the New York branch of the S.S.R., and he wasn’t allowed a day off free of conditions. They needed him at the office as soon as possible, something big. So he hung up the phone and turned to see you watching him, smile still firmly in place even though your disappointment was evident.

“Go ahead. I’ll clean up.”

If he had lesser strength of character he would have called back and quit immediately. But you’d made clear from the beginning that you didn’t expect him to sacrifice his career for you. He was an important man, and you understood. You were proud of him. He ducked to kiss you quickly and fled before his sense of duty gave out.

He didn’t expect you to still be there when he dragged himself back somewhere around two in the morning. The only evidence of your aborted dinner date was the drops of wax littering the extinguished candles. You were curled up on his threadbare couch under a blanket you'd given him. He approached cautiously, doing his best not to startle you. He crouched until he was level with your face, and then gently brushed his hand over your hair.

You shifted and blinked a few times until you focused on him and smiled sleepily. “You're back,” you sighed before almost tipping forward to kiss him. “Did everything work out?”

“Yeah, we got it taken care of. You didn’t have to stay.” Jack moved his hand to rub your arm with a warm palm.

“I wanted to make sure you got back safely.” You yawned, eyes fluttering as you fought against the beckoning sleep. Jack felt something warm inside him somewhere near his breastbone.

“You could have slept in the bed.”

“That would have been terribly rude without asking first.”

“Come on, sunshine. Someone who cleaned up that mess single-handedly deserves a good night's rest.” He worked his arms under your lax body to scoop you up.

“Spend the night in the bed of an unmarried man? Scandalous.” You were smiling still, but he wondered if you realized your eyes were closed.

HIs bedroom was the only other room in the apartment besides the john, so he always made sure to clean it thoroughly every time you’d be coming over. Thus, his bed was neatly made when he deposited you on the bedspread. Soon he had the covers up and tucked in snugly around you. You hadn’t done more than mumble incoherently the entire time.

He lingered for a moment to gaze at your sleeping face, which was probably strange, but you were asleep so what did he care? The he pressed a long kiss to your head and went to make himself comfortable on the couch, which wasn’t too bad since it was still warm and smelled like you.

He woke up in the morning to gentle fingertips on his cheek. You were crouched in the same place he’d occupied earlier that night (morning, whatever), fondly running your fingers over his stubbled face.

“I would have shared, you know,” you started quietly, hand moving up to trace his brow. “It's not like we haven’t occupied the same bed before.”

“I’m just trying to keep everything aboveboard here. Didn’t want you to feel scandalized.”

You let out a short ‘ha' and then leaned back on your heels. “I think I saw enough ingredients to scrape together some breakfast. How do you feel about pancakes?”

He offered to help, but you ordered him to stay put, so he stayed where he was, watching the woman he loved bustle around his kitchen making him breakfast. The apron returned to cover your rumpled dress, and you hummed happily as the batter sizzled. Later, after you'd left, he picked up that cursed phone and made his own phone call.

“Hey ma, it's me. I was wondering if Gam-Gam's boxes were still in the attic. Okay, good. Would you dig something out for me?”


	9. Nine Months

**Nine Months**

“Jack, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

“We did not drive six hours to get here just for you to chicken out now. What are you so worried about?”

“Would you like the list alphabetized or ordered according to severity?”

“They're just people. You meet new people all the time.”

“They're not just people! They created you. They gave you life. You're their only child, which makes me a huge interloper, and if they don’t like me what are you going to do?”

“I won’t have to do anything because they’re going to love you.”

“Hold on, just… just give me a second.”

He rapped his knuckles sharply against the door and smirked at you. “Oops, too late.”

“I can’t believe you, you a-"

“Jack!” A lovely middle-aged woman threw the door open and her arms around him. He struggled to return the embrace as he balanced both your bags at the same time.

“Hi ma.”

“And this must be the girl you’ve told us so much about!” She released him to take hold of your hands, apparently unnoticing of how they’d previously been fidgeting. “She's even prettier than you said! And that's saying something, because you should hear the way he goes on about you.”

“Ma!” Jack reprimanded, faint red coloring his cheeks as he glanced sideways at you.

“Come now, a woman loves to hear that. Besides, you have no reason to be embarrassed. Oh, look at me, keeping you out on the porch like this. Come in, come in. John!” she called out as she bustled you through the door, leaving Jack to follow with a sigh. “John, they're here, they’re here!”

You managed to exchange a quick glance with Jack before a sturdy man with steel-gray hair appeared. “Who's this pretty young thing? Surely Jack couldn’t have done so well for himself.”

“Thanks a lot, pop.”

“There's my boy!” The man bypassed you to wrap Jack in a bear hug. The bags slipped from Jack's fingers and hit the floor with a thud. “What'd you do to trick this girl into dating you?”

“John!” Mother sounded remarkably like son in reprimand.

“Don’t worry, Jeanie, the boy knows I’m just teasing.”

“Don’t mind him a bit, dear, he doesn’t mean anything by it. Now, let me get a good look at you.” She turned to face you head on, looking you up and down once before staring into your eyes with peculiar intensity. You were suddenly very aware of how many times you blinked. “Yes, yes, I believe I can see precisely why Jack is so wild about you. You have a very kind soul.”

“Ma, would you lay off? I’d like to put these bags somewhere, and I’m sure she'd like a minute to breathe once you're done scaring her.”

“Pish posh. Fine. You go ahead and show her to the guest room, and I'll see to starting dinner. John, didn’t you say you wanted to check on Bessie?”

“Probably should – that mama's about to pop. You ever seen a cow give birth, young lady?”

“John!” “Dad!”

“Just teasing, just teasing. You all need to grow a sense of humor.” He winked at you, a very familiar wink that must be hereditary, and sauntered out the door. Jack's mother apologized for her husband and told you to make yourself at home. Then she turned down a hallway you assumed led to the kitchen, grumbling under her breath the whole way.

Jack heaved a great sigh and bent to pick up the bags once more. When he looked down at you he found your gaze still trained on the now empty hall, expression bewildered. He cleared his throat to get your attention, expecting you to be near-catatonic from the overwhelming onslaught. Therefore, he was rather shocked when you turned to him with a brilliant grin.

“I think they like me!”


	10. Nine Months

**Nine Months, Evening**

Dinner was a much calmer affair, though no less full of chatter. Jack's mom was full of questions, and his dad seemed to have a joke for everything. You shortly found that beyond suspecting they might approve of you, you also quite liked them. That the pair adored their son was obvious, and you did not take their acceptance of you lightly.

_This_ was a family, you couldn’t help but think. A right and true family the way they should be.

“That's an interesting necklace, dear,” Jean broke into your pensive reflections. “Are those wedding rings?”

You smiled down at the three bands as you began twiddling them. “Yes. I know it's a bit strange, but they belonged to some people who were very important to me.”

Peripherally you saw Jack hide his smile by stuffing a forkful of roast between his treacherous lips.

“They don’t look very old. Did they belong to your parents?” Jean blanched and dropped her fork. “Oh dear, that was very insensitive of me. Jack never mentioned your parents, so we were never sure… I'm so sorry for your loss. Dear me, what a blabbermouth I am.”

The idea of you wearing any token of your parents, especially on the heels of your previous thoughts concerning proper families, forced a choked of snort from you that silenced Jack's mother immediately. You tried to cover your misstep with a cough, but at the same time you had to force down a wholly inappropriate giggle. “No, no, my parents are very much alive. We just don’t see each other that often, so there's not much news to tell.”

“I see,” Jean mused mildly, and you wondered if she really did. “Then I’m curious – who did the rings belong to?”

You coughed again, pressing your napkin to your mouth and darting a glance at Jack who swallowed his mouthful without properly chewing it and burst out, “Ma, was that apple pie I smelled earlier?”

“Apple crisp!” his mother was immediately distracted by her matronly instincts and leapt to her feet to begin clearing dishes, demanding you sit when you rose to help. She blinked at Jack when he took over in your stead, but then beamed and chattered their way into the kitchen.

“That's a tip you may find useful over time.” John Thompson drew your attention as he leaned back in his chair and pulled out a pipe. “If Jeanie ever asks a question you haven’t the mind to answer, just bring up dessert. Throws her right off. Don’t you worry none, darlin',” he assured when he saw your expression. “We just met, after all. We can't expect to learn all your secrets right off the bat.”

Conversation settled back down over warm apple crisp heaped with melting vanilla ice cream. At least until Jean tried to affect nonchalance and failed horribly; Jack certainly hadn’t learned his artful misdirection from her. “Oh Jack,” she began, feigning intense interest in the last few bites of her dessert, “I nearly forgot to ask – did you get the package I sent you?”

“Yeah ma,” Jack grunted, watching his fork scrap his plate with the same kind of focus.

How peculiar.

“I don’t suppose you’ve done anything with it?”

“Not yet.”

“Are you planning to soon?”

“Yeah ma.”

“You might as well not put it off. Better sooner than later. Make hay while the sun shines, or so they say-“

“I got it, mom,” he cut her off, employing a sharp tone you’d yet to hear him use with her.

She bristled just a little, but seemed unaffected on the whole. “I’m only saying-"

“Stop saying. I’ve got everything under control.”

“It's pretty nice in the evenings ‘round here – not too hot once the sun sets. Why don’t you kids take a walk? I'll help your mother with the dishes.”

Jack nodded at his father thankfully and led you out the front door into the deep blue-green of the grass lit by moonlight. With a twitch of his shoulders he seemed to shake the tension off and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. “Pops is a trooper all right. I don’t think he's helped clear the table in my entire life.”

“Maybe he's learning from his son's example.” You threaded your arm through his, hugging yourself close in the cooling night air as you began a slow trek along a fencerow. The night was alive with crickets and a far-off frog or two, but even the peace of the surroundings wasn’t enough to quiet your curiosity. “What package was your mother talking about?”

“Nothing.”

His clipped answer was mighty suspicious.

“She didn’t seem to think it was nothing.”

“She thinks a lot of things.”

“Most women do.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

“It doesn’t seem like you think it's nothing either.”

“It's nothing you need to worry about. Just drop it.”

Wrong answer.

“Well now I’ve simply got to know.”

“No you don’t.”

“Why so secretive, cowboy? Is it something embarrassing?”

“No.”

“Wait, you don’t actually have spurs, do you?”

“No.”

“No, I don’t think you’d be embarrassed by that. It'd have to be more personal. Baby pictures?”

“I said drop it.”

“A journal with your deepest, most heartfelt feelings?”

“I’m not having this conversation.”

“Perhaps not, but I am. Oh, I know! Your old snuggle blanket!”

“You know what? Fine!” he stopped and whirled so abruptly you almost tripped into him. He withdrew his hand from his pocket and shoved something into your hands. You found yourself squinting through the darkness at the familiar shape of a ring box.

Looking up at Jack's blank face gleaned you nothing, so with a progressively increasing heart rate you tipped back the lid to see a delicate ring inlaid with a blue gemstone. You stared at it for another few blinks before looking back up at Jack, too afraid to assume anything but hope clawing at your chest like a trapped cat.

“It didn't start out as an engagement ring, not like the one Stark bought.” He stared resolutely at the rings hanging from your neck instead of your face. “My grandpa bought it for my grandma on their 50th wedding anniversary. I thought you might like the sentimental value.”

“It's the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” The hope was now climbing your throat and choking off your voice. Still, the words helped Jack to meet your eyes.

“I was going to prepare a whole speech and everything, take you out somewhere real romantic, the whole nine yards, but you went and ruined that.”

“Sorry.” The word came out wet and half laughed.

“I think I kind of expected it anyway. When does anything we do go as planned?” He seemed to grow more unsure of himself the longer you stood holding the ring. He shoved his hands back in his pockets and ran his gaze over your face. “Well, what do you say? Want to marry me for real?”

“I… I don’t… “

His eyebrows climbed. “You don’t want to marry me?

“No! No, I mean, not no! I just…” you paused to swallow so your voice would come out drier. “I mean… Jack, are you sure? Marriage lasts a long time, and… I'm...”

_I’m just me, and honestly I'd expected you to have moved on by now._

His face relaxed into a very soft smile. “I was ready to marry you the moment I found you in my office that first day. The question is, are you ready?”

You couldn’t understand how your heart could be beating so hard and the serum do nothing to combat it. This man, this brave, charming, smug, sweet, kind, arrogant, handsome, infuriating, wonderful man, stood there and wanted to marry you. He was obviously crazy, but then, you must be, too. A grin split your face that Jack would later tell you in one of his more sentimental moments lit up the night like morning had come early.

“Yeah. I mean yes. I mean… Jack, I want to marry you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life.”

You'd tell him later in that sentimental moment that his smile must have matched if not surpassed yours in brilliance. “Yeah?”

“Yeah!” You giggled as he swept you up and spun you around. Your arms around his neck probably strangled him just a little, and you almost lost your hold on the ring box in your excitement, but these seemed minor details when compared to the very real future where this man would be your husband. He set you down and kissed you heartily even as you couldn’t contain your giggles born from an unfamiliar giddiness. Not until a screen door slammed from the still too-near house did sense return.

“Jack! Jack! Did you do it? Did she say yes?”

Jack didn’t take his grinning eyes off yours even as he yelled back to the silhouette in the doorway. “Yeah ma. She’s gonna marry me.”

“Oh bless my soul! Well, don’t keep her out there all to yourself! This calls for a celebration. Champagne! John, fetch out the champagne! Our baby is getting married!”

Her disappearance back inside the house went unnoticed as Jack wrested your arm from around his neck to pluck the ring from its case, slipping it directly on to your finger without even a detour to the wrong hand. Then he kissed you again until his mother returned to the porch yelling that he had the rest of his life to kiss you but the champagne would be gone soon if his father was left unattended.

The rest of your lives indeed. You liked the sound of that.


End file.
